For the Sake of Loyalty
by Dr. Captain Pepper
Summary: Each of the Ninth's Guardians have people they love dearly, but their duty to protect the boss always comes first. Small series of one-shots where each chapter is devoted to a different guardian. COMPLETE!
1. Visconti

**Hello, Hello**

So this is a mini-series that I just thought of few days ago, and my heart has been screaming at me to write it. It will only be six chapters long, and each chapter will be a one-shot devoted to each of the 9th's guardians.

One thing I will be doing is writing each shot in a different writing style, so I would really love opinions about this one.

And I'll just point out that each shot will be a different point in time for each of the guardians, and the relationships will be different for each one. Bah! I don't even know which guardian's I like more.

I'll try and bust these works out quick.

(lol, I think this one is the funniest of the set)

**Protocol:**

word count: 1,449

[I do not own any KHR characters]

=Advice/Comments are loved=

**_Dee_**

* * *

><p>A rain softly drips in the town Ancona, and Visconti finally finds himself under the covered entryway of the Riviera de Cornero. He lets out a small snort while giving his trench coat a swift shake. The droplets fling off and the Cloud Guardian walks into the lobby. He gives the bellboy a small thank you nod for holding open the door for him.<p>

Naturally hating the sounds of wet loafers squeaking against marble floors, the old man walks strait to the carpeted area while sliding his shades on top of his head. Then the hand that slid the glasses checks his oil-slicked hair. It all feels in place. A group of older women glance his way from what his peripheral can see. So in the midst of his tread to the elevator, he turns to them with a raised brow, nods his head courteously, and continues his personal mission. Women always have been his weakness.

A finger presses the metal doors shut. The elevator rises slowly. His foot taps to the song playing in the elevator. He's always enjoyed Paolo Conte. It isn't playing, but _Aguaplano_ has always been his favorite song by him. Even with _La Negra_ being the song playing currently, he hums his favorite verse of the song to himself. The young man standing next to him found the intimidating man to be very weird. Visconti returned the boy's stare. The dark-skinned teen looked away immediately.

The young boy's level came first. He quickly shuffled out. Then a woman with many kids tried to come in. Visconti not being a man that is fond of children quickly pointed his finger upward. No way in hell is the man going all the way down to the lobby with the rat pack, only to go back up. The woman huffs and the door shuts. Visconti sighs and rolls his eyes.

The elevator that usually binged to the arrival of its destination didn't this time. Visconti took it as a signal to use the stairs when leaving. To hell broken elevators, he thought, I've seen way too many of those stupid scary movies Ganauche likes to be so careless. He walks out and hears the elevator bing. He shakes his head.

Stupid elevator, he thought.

From here, it is the fourth door on the right. He walks casually. The floor is silent on this level. He nods in approval. Still walking. He stops, fourth door on the right. It's a forest green door with the number 914 nailed on. The numbers are a fake shiny gold. He knocks and waits patiently for an answer.

Nothing.

He knocks again, shifting his weight. She knows I'm coming over today, he thought. He waits a couple more moments. One of those moments is spent trying to look inside the peephole. Nope, it allows none to peek inside. This doesn't help the nonexistent patience that Visconti has developed over the years. He groans and knocks once more. He gets a response.

"Go the fuck away."

A man? He thought curiously. He knocks again.

"No one's home."

Visconti finds three things wrong with this situation. The first is that a man just said no one is home when someone is obviously there. I don't believe in ghosts, he thought. The second is that the only person supposed to be living here is his daughter—what the hell is a man responding to his knocks for? And the third is that he owns this apartment, he should be able to enter as he pleases.

His first assumption is that someone is robbing his daughter.

In this second his anger flares and he easily kicks the dead-bolted door down. He stomps in, and hears the man saying, "What the fuck was that?"

Visconti ascertains that the perpetrator is in the living room. He fearlessly treads forward. The man has a death wish. In the living room, a naked man is standing there. A hesitant stare is given in response to the Mafioso's glare.

Visconti takes two steps that the worried guy mirrors. But the worried guy wasn't expecting the Cloud Guardian to easily swing his arm forward, grabbing the perpetrator's face and throwing him into the couch like a rag doll. The couch flips over and the naked man flies into the wall. "Who the fuck are you."

The guy is groaning while trying to stand.

Visconti grabs his shoulder and punches him in the face. "What the fuck are you doing in my apartment."

"DAD THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!"

* * *

><p>Three people sit at a small kitchen table. Two sit awkwardly, one has frozen vegetables pressed against their swollen cheekbone, and Visconti is glaring at the whiner. "This is your boyfriend?"<p>

"Dad."

"Looks like a fucking loser."

The daughter glares. "Dad!"

"He's a whiner too."

The once naked guy, now in boxers, stays quiet.

The daughter groans. "Will you knock it off?"

Visconti slams his fist on the table.

The guy flinches back. He doesn't want to get punched again.

Clara gets even angrier and knocks the table too.

Visconti is not fazed like the whimpy boy.

There is silence between the three. There are raindrops outside. There is the sound of a leaky faucet coming from the kitchen sink. Visconti wonders why his daughter never informed him of the obvious repairs her apartment needs. He decide to roam into that subject after his next comment:

The cloud clears his throat. "Sorry. I guess you can't help you are—even if happens to be a wimp."

"Dad, what the fuck?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "What?" He's always been a crass one too.

"You can stop with the insults."

"Hey, if he's not happy with what he is, then it's up to him to change."

The guy remains quiet, now understanding why Clara never wanted him to meet Visconti.

Clara rolls her eyes and Visconti changes the subject, "So why haven't you told me about the obvious repairs this place needs?"

"Well I only see a wall that needs to be patched. It's a perfect indention of Zetico."

He cocks a brow. "That's his name?" That's a terrible name, he thought.

"Yeah, it is."

"Well I won't get into that. It's not his fault, but I see no need for you to be upset about the wall either."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I thought you were being robbed."

"What a crock of shit."

"It's the truth. Plus, I am the one that has paid for everything in here, and I will be the one fixing all of the stuff here."

"You think that just cause you can shuffle money my way that you can do whatever you want?"

"I didn't say that. And I don't see your mom helping out at all."

"Mom is having her own issues."  
>"Like usual."<p>

Clara is getting extremely pissed with her dad's presence, and Visconti is getting extremely pissed with Zetico's presence. Is the sap really going to sit there with his mouth shut the whole time? Visconti thinks this and immediately asks the boy. He also mentions that Zetico should have a little more backbone, especially if he's playing house with his daughter. The guy is only becoming more nervous with the situation.

"Dad—"

Visconti's phone vibrates. It is immediately answered. "Ciao."

Coyote responds, "Boss wants all of us to assemble at HQ. He says it's urgent."

"Got it. I'm two hours away."

Clara snorts. "Work?"

"Yeah, but you were about to kick me out. I just saved you letters."

"Whatever."

"Love you too."

The old man quickly and quietly strides to the door, leaving after grabbing his trench that is hung in the bathroom. He heads for the stairs and slips his trench on while shaking in head. He very much, disapproves of Zetico. I bet even Brow Nie could kick his ass, he thinks as the shades slip over his eyes.

Inside the apartment, Clara and Zetico sit in silence. Clara is all-around pissed with how everything went. Zetico is thinking that he should just leave. He's starting to notice how much the father and daughter are really alike. He does not like his future in this situation.

"Where are you going?" Clara asks after watching the bruised guy stand.

"I'm getting out of here."

"Why?"

"Cause your dad's a scary asshole, and you're kind of the same way."

Clara grabs the wimp by the ear and throws him out.

His clothes will make a toasty fire this evening.

* * *

><p>=Ahh, and if you're wondering I've based all the guardians nationalities off the origin of the pastries they're named after. The only person's who isn't spot on is Brow Nie Jr's, whose pastry originates from good ole' Chicago, Illinois. I decided against making him from Chicago for the sheer fact that I didn't think any part of the Chicago metro fit the story concept I had in mind (Lol, I've been to Chicago in case any of you are like wtf?)=<p>

Just some random extra info


	2. Schnitten Brabanters

**Yes.**

Another one. I really like this one. I like how it turns out.

I ended up writing it as prose; it just felt right.

Protocol:  
>word count: 131<p>

[I do not own any KHR characters]

=Advice/Comments are loved=

_Dee_

* * *

><p><strong>.Schnitten Brabanters.<strong>

Dark night, light knock  
>Hard tock of a lock,<br>Soft echo of a knob let go

A hollow door opens,  
>"Schnitten? Oh my god—what happened?"<br>The quiet man is pulled inside and stripped

He sits.  
>He sighs.<br>He stings.

First Aid is applied gently.  
>Schnitten watches quietly.<br>Their scent is heavenly.

"I hate seeing you like this."

"Our meetings like this are becoming regular."

Hand on the nape of the neck  
>Schnitten pulls them in<br>His Rough lips give a tender kiss

Pulling away,  
>Soft words are spoken,<br>"Marco, I've missed you."

Parted lips press  
>Tongue traces Marco's mouth<br>Schnitten needs him closer—

Morning meekly mesmerizes  
>Marco's muggy mind,<br>Rouses

He wakes up alone.  
>All alone.<br>Normal.

Normal.  
>A card on a pillow,<br>Drawn on it is a heart.


	3. Coyote Nougat

**Okey Dokey Smokies  
><strong>I finally finished another one.

This one is actually is second concept I thought of when I originally planned this little series out.  
>But I knew I wanted to write it in a way I've never really written a Fic before... so it took some time.<br>Hope you guys like it.

**Protocol:  
><strong>word count: 1,030

[I do not own any KHR characters]

=Advice/Comments are loved=

**_Dee_**

* * *

><p>The tragedy!<p>

The horror!

On a pier not too far away from an inheritance that was recently devastated, lays a man by the name of Coyote Nougat. Still garbed in his black suit and tie, the man gasps out pained breaths. You would think that the pain of the blows laid on him by Aoba Koyo are the only thing he can seem to focus on, but it is all the contrary. His thoughts linger on his beloved Giuseppina. It is their anniversary today.

What was a fleeting meeting back in the ripe time of 1956 is something that can only be explained by chance. A small party held in the town Sassari was the place of such a grand moment in time. It all took place in the town square lighted by dim fluorescents whilst the cobblestone roadways were covered with smiling townspeople. Within the crowd of dancing couples and conversing citizens, were the heads of the five strongest familigie* in Italy.

At the largest table of the festa, Vongola Ottavo sat at the head. Alongside her were the heads of the Estraneo, Beccio, Difo, and Pesca famiglie. While Ottavo was discussing with the current heads an issue that she wanted swift action for, Timoteo and Coyote were asked to escort her along with her own guardians.

The two men in their mid twenties stood calmly among the outskirts of dancers in the center of the event. Giggling, grinning, and gabbing were the swinging silhouettes that circled around the large fountain. The men spoke of trivial things like women, money, and poker night as they kept lightly vigilant eyes on the crowd they know as their famiglia's territory.

A soft touch that was meant for Nono candidato* slipped, touching the arm of his close friend. Two pairs of eyes darted.

"Ummm." The young girl wanted to immediately look away, but kept her stare as her cheeks began to blush in her embarrassment. Timoteo noticed the girl's beauty and looked to his friend with a good smirk while wriggling his eyebrows. Coyote didn't know how to respond, but choked something out after his wingman elbowed him.

He cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

After a slight glance to the man her intentional touch was meant for, she looked up to her honest mistake, but couldn't bear the thought of revealing it. Her blue eyes gazed upon Coyote Nougat's deep brown eyes that were showing after running his fingers through his scalp. His thoughts were brimming with vacillation as the woman by the name of Giuseppina politely told Coyote the words she spent a few minutes with her friends practicing outside of the celebration.

"My name is Giuseppina. I saw you from across the party… and I was wondering if I might walk with you and become acquainted with you."

The brunette looked over to his shorter friend, only to be given the 'get the hell out of here look.' Coyote's eyes then squinted slightly as he smiled out his response, "Pleased to meet you. My name is Coyote."

The man respectfully held out his hand and led her off from the loud music. Timoteo could only be jealous that his friend caught the eye of such a fox. The man would never know. He could only sigh with a slight chuckle. Leave it to one of the shiest men he knows to be stuck in such a situation.

This night led Giuseppina to be curious of the man who didn't speak to her very much, but could dance wonderfully and could understand colloquialisms from northern and southern Italian dialects. Coyote was feeling shot from his nerves after about thirty minutes, but he spent the rest of his night with her. His hands were constantly rubbing against his jacket to hide their clamminess. She noticed, but saw past it.

She saw past it even after the day they wed in 1957. Even then, his whole body became nervous around her; he felt ready to burst into flames as he slid the ring up her finger. Timoteo was his best man. Nono candidato* also became aware that he would soon inherit the leadership position of the Vongola at this time, and asked Coyote to become one of his guardians on this date. Though it worried the newlywed, Giuseppina told her husband to do what his heart told him to do.

But on this very day, 54 years later, the husband lays on a pier breathing shallow breaths, and the wife sits at their coffee table eating a small lunch while waiting for him to call.

A cold arm on the Storm guardian starts to move. It finds his inner pocket; two small items fall out. Coyote quickly fumbles for the one more important to him, and a cell phone slips through a small gap in the pier. A moment passes and the phone is heard diving into the ocean. Coyote swears at himself slightly, but still is thankful he saved his late father-in-law's pocket watch.

He doesn't realize it until now, but his recent saving of a particular pocket watch has made his wounds worse. He coughs loudly. Blood speckles out and stains his lips. He is also feeling the after effects now as well.

But in his final moments of pain, he remembers the smiles of happiness, the yells of frivolous arguments, and the tears of terrible moments. His ears hear footsteps.

"Coyote!" Visconti left many minutes after his fellow guardian, and is now arriving.

Coyote mumbles back unintelligibly.

Visconti quickly pulls out his phone and informs Ganauche III of Coyote's status. The phone quickly snaps shut. The Cloud Guardian slips off his shades and inspects the wounds while yelling at the other family members to call for medics. Coyote is still trying to catch his attention. Visconti watches Coyote cough again, more blood spraying out, and finally notices. The guardian that is known by them all as their boss' closest friend, first guardian, and his right hand man was trying to give him his ring and his pocket watch.

At a coffee table in Sassari, sits an old woman with a ringing telephone.

* * *

><p>*Famiglie - (italian) families<p>

*Candidato - (italian) candidate


	4. Brow Nie

**Protocol:**

word count: 1,804

[I do not own any KHR characters]  
>I only claim ownership to the one-shot concepts<p>

=Comments/Advice is loved=

_Dee_

* * *

><p><strong>.Brow Nie.<strong>

A soft sigh escapes the man as he rewraps his fingers around the steering wheel. Two hours of driving—almost home. The rented Jetta zooms down the two-lane highway. Golden orange leaves on white trees guide him as walls along the path; they allow none to stray. A hand leaves the wheel for a moment run through his hair, guiding the strands behind his ear. Then the other wanders to the center console to fetch his phone.

Eyes quickly shifting between the phone and the curvy road ahead, he unlocks the iPhone with a simple slide of his finger. Now on the home screen, it slides again to the left to show him more apps. He taps on the square titled "Family." The screen splits to show 12 apps that were hidden inside the family square—he taps "Catwalk." Brow Nie needs to do quick check in what's going on in the fashion world.

Look at him—he screams fashionista.

Pulling up to the white Colonial styled home that had Victorian accents in its design, Brow Nie pulls down his visor. The cover hiding the mirror flips. One last hair check is what he's thinking. The visor thumps against the car's roof. The hazel eyes dart to the rear-view mirror to check for any possible followers. A blue tree hangs from the mirror. It says its name is 'New Car Scent.' It does smell like a new car in here, he thought. The door then became ajar.

The black, wooden heels of his Dolce & Gabanna loafers clicked against the concrete of the walkway as he treads closer to the entryway. Knocking noises bounced from the shoes that made their way up the steps and across the wooden patio. Dark blue, boot cut jeans; Black dress shirt with its sleeves rolled just under his elbows, tucked in, top two buttons not buttoned; camel brown belt; large ring on his right hand—Brow Nie is dressed to kill. Any woman would have a heart attack after seeing him dressed so well.

[Knock, Knock]

He hears thumping inside the house.

Thump, thump, thump.

The door opens, a young girl answers, "Mom! Brother's here!"

A stampede charges towards the door.

"We missed you!"

Brow smiles happily and clicks inside.

"I've missed you guys too," is what the secret sun guardian tells his three sisters and mother that are surrounding and drowning him in smiles. Their faces are bright and serene. Of course, they ask how things are in Milan, what it's like to work for Emporio Armani, and if he will style their hair. Only the youngest, that is barely 16, asks for the haircut, but he knows that they all wanted to ask. He grabs a small lock of her bleached blonde hair, inspecting the ends before saying, "You iron your hair too much, or you aren't using any hair serum. I'll have to cut a few inches."

She rolls her hazel eyes that have slightly more green in hers than Brow's. "I guess." She doesn't like having short hair. She feels her face is too round for it.

It seems as if Brow was being whisked into the realm of his feigned hairstyling career, but his mother thought otherwise. She lightly chided the youngest one, "Lindsay, you're brother Ma—I mean Brow is only home for a minute and you're already trying to make him do stuff for you? We should let him get some sleep or eat something."

Brow took two steps towards his Mother and gave her the hug that he had forgotten to give until now. "Don't worry about it." Then he smiles, "I slept on the plane and I'm not all that hungry. But I would like to pixie your hair like you promised."

She looks away while casting a frown.

They all laugh at her obvious dread.

* * *

><p>The pristine razoring sheers snip rapidly. He is on the second youngest sister's hair; his job is to thin her very thick and heavy hair out. Having dark brown locks like Brow, she is the only one to receive their mother's thick and wavy tresses that will do anything you want them to. But no hair is perfect—hers is very heavy and has to be thinned out regularly, or else. Brow takes a moment to inspect the lengths of the layer he's working on and asks her, "How is your boyfriend Chelsea?"<p>

"Boyfriend?"

"Yeah, that one… Uhh… Josh guy. Yeah, Josh."

"Hah, we broke up a while ago. He became an asshole."

He nods. "Oh."

She shrugs her shoulders and smiles. "But I'm talking to this other guy. He's in school for teaching actually."

"Teacher? That's not a very lucrative career."

Chelsea shrugs her shoulders. "Eh, money isn't important to me."

"Speaking of money and careers, Mom says you aren't going to school right now." He puckers his lips at her and furrows his brows.

Chelsea then goes on to explain a million and one reasons why she isn't ready to go back, the main one being that she doesn't know what she wants to do with her life. Brow could only tell her that she will figure it out with time, since he never really decided his career. It more or less just fell on his lap; it was good for his whimsical nature. She smiled and felt good that someone understood, and smiled more when she saw the job was done.

A hug, a kiss, and a smile as bright as sunshine.

Chelsea reminded him how much she loves him and how much she has missed him.

Melanie now sits in the chair.

"You don't have to do this, you know?" Melanie is the most humble of the bunch; the Mafioso loves that about her, along with her kindness. Brow lets his fingers lightly tease her scalp while telling her to shut up cutely. Her small smile appeared, and Brow wetted her hair down. Though he doesn't like to cut hair, and he can't stand the smell of wet hair in the least, he trims Melanie's thin and straight hair into a simple and graceful cut. He would rather deal with the stomach turning scent of wet hair for a few hours than to make any of them aware of what he really does. He even went as far as changing his name to keep them safe. They're all he has. They're all he needs to keep the demons at bay.

* * *

><p>Now the party of five sits at around the island of the kitchen while Brow's mother, Janice, looks back at the oven for a moment to check the lamb stew she has cooking. "Only a few more minutes. I'll grab plates and utensils." Melanie, holding her baby, immediately asks if she needs help. Mom tells her no, but makes Lindsay get up to help.<p>

Brow can only stare curiously at his five-month old nephew. The baby wondrously stares back and attempts to claw at the lizard on his uncle's cheek when he gets the chance. Brow doesn't get too close—the baby has sharp nails that Melanie hasn't cut yet. "Sweet and ferocious. Better watch out Melanie,"

He chuckles while taking another sip of his brown bottle that the baby seems to want more than his milk. Then Brow says to the baby, "Oh you want this?" He points to the bottle. "I try to hold you earlier, and you cry. But now I have something good and we're friends. You remind me of someone I know." He was thinking of Coyote Nougat.

Coyote, who is driving right now, sneezed. "Shit!"

He got spit all over the windshield.

The beer was set down for grace, the baby was laid down for a nap, and the plates were set in place. Dinner is served. Brow's stomach growled to the scent of the onions, carrots, and thyme that began to dance around the room, the scent of the lambchops being their waltzing partners. The girls laughed at him and let him grab a helping first.

While eating, Brow asked and found out that Melanie's husband was at work. He won't be able to come until late. Brow nodded with a bite in his mouth, swallowing to say that it was fine. He knew the she probably felt bad. Being the kindest one of the bunch and the weakest one emotionally isn't ever a good combination.

Chelsea then lead the conversation, talking about her boyfriend and her job until it was mentioned that Lindsay got a job too. The youngest of the group didn't want to say where.

Brow eggs her on, "Oh come one. Just tell me."

With an exasperated expression, she yells, "No way! It's dumb!"

A little more convincing, and she revealed that she works as at the local Sonic Drive in. Carhop on roller skates (cause you get paid more to ride around on skates). Brow busts out laughing, mainly at the thought of a sixteen year old rolling around on roller skates in this day and age. Lindsay instantly gets pissed.

[Bzzzzz, Bzzzzz] Brow pulls his phone of his pocket. It's Bouche Croquant.

He answers, "Hello?"

"You need to head for Japan immediately. The Ninth is in critical condition."

He tries to ask without any panic in his voice; he couldn't hide all of it. "What happened?"

"We think Xanxus abducted the Ninth while we were all away on our missions."

He looks up to see his family all looking at him with worried stares. "I'm leaving right now."

He hangs up the phone and immediately stands, thinking of a lie for his escape.

His mom asks, "What's wrong?"

"Disaster in our show that's happening in three days. They need me to come home immediately."

Chelsea then asks, "You can't even stay the night? It's in three days."

Melaine counters, "Six hour time difference, hun. It's already tomorrow there. And not to mention he has to return his car, fly to New York, and then fly to Rome. He might have to connect in between too."

Brow let out a sad sigh, his actual flying will be that much and more: New York, Houston, Los Angeles, and Tokyo. He shook his head. I also need to buy a suit on the way too, He thought.

The girls stay silent as Brows quickly throws his dishes in the dishwasher after rinsing them and finishes his beer. Small hugs, kisses, tears—these are all things present at their parting. A kiss on the sleeping baby's head too. The secret Mafioso stormed out of the house. He felt regret.

There was regret that he took time off.


	5. Bouche Croquant

**Hello Hello  
><strong>Ahh another one written. One more left.

Gosh I've enjoyed writing these. I can't really decide which one I like the most. I've tried writing them all differently, so there are things that I love about them all.

But here is Bouche Croquant's. The beginning might be a little difficult to understand since I put French in there, but you shouldn't have too much trouble since I made to put context clues as to what what was said. If there are any French speakers out there who think this is wrong, then please let me know. (I used iTranslate on my Mac's dashboard for the French)

**Okay, I'll Stop Rambling  
>Protocol:<br>**word count 1,522

[I do not own any KHR characters]  
>I only claim rights to the concepts of each of the one-shots posted<p>

=Advice/Comments are Loved=

**_The Captain_**

* * *

><p>"<em>Bouche, mon amour, se réveillent s'il vous plaît."<em>

_Wake up... Why? _

"_Mari, il est déjà onze pendant le matin."_

_What? It's eleven?_

_I roll to my side and rub the stuff out of my eyes. My lids creep open, and I wake to see the sunshine already beaming into our room full blast. She must not be lying if it is already this bright out. _

_I sit myself up and call out to her. "Emanuelle, où sont vous?"_

_Waiting for a response… nothing. I ask where she is once more, and am given a hint by the sound of her humming. Her feet calmly walking about in the other room give more hint to my Emanuelle carrying on to the tune of "Dodo, L'enfant Do*." Toes lightly trampling about as she dances around the room like she always does. I close my eyes and chuckle knowing that is exactly what she's doing as she hums to herself. That silly girl and her dance…_

"_Je veux vous voir, Emanuelle." I say this in pleading tone._

_My body twists and my feet touch the cool floor. I rub my face with one with both hands, letting my hands rub together afterwards as I let out one more yawn. Her taps sound behind me. I turn. Does a man have to plead to see their woman? I guess so, 'cause here she is now. Creamy colored skin and dark brown ringlets, my Emanuelle stands in front of me with a smile, holding her flat stomach and still humming._

_Her small, dark eyes give me all of her attention as she comes closer. Lord knows if she is really pregnant, but if it makes her this happy, then so be it. I brush some of her hair out of her face, giving her a forehead a light kiss before—_

And here is where I really wake.

I swiftly sit up and rub my forehead. "Wow, how many years has it been now?"

Too many.

With a quick crack of my knuckles and popping of the joint in my neck, I roll my shoulders and get out of bed while listening the cars race home from work. Ganauche and I stayed out too late last night patrolling around Boss' place last night. Then again, after that shit Xanxus pulled at the ring scramble there isn't such a thing as too much patrolling. Who knows what that fuck or any other rival family will do.

With my suit back on, I look in the mirror and quickly throw my tie into a half Windsor knot while inspecting my other suit. I need to find a dry cleaner around here. I've got to remember to ask the concierge about dry cleaners if they're still there when I get downstairs.

I need food too.

I walk out the door and check my phone for nearby restaurants, letting my peripheral check for the concierge. Nope, gone for the evening. Visonti is pretty good about finding the best places in different areas, so I'll ask him later. Giving the lobby around me a quick scan for anything suspicious, I walk out onto the land of the rising sun that is actually experiencing the beginning of dusk. I turn right and walk down the street. Google is saying that there is homeland cuisine around here. I'm really craving Cassoulete* after having that dream about Emanuelle again.

Walking amidst the Japanese people heading to various places, I can't help but notice some of the stares. It's obvious I stick out like a sore thumb, and it's even more evident that I'm not the most cuddly of people, but there's no need to stare the way some of them are. I'm supposed to be the rude one—the French man. But I walk and tune out the stares while reminiscing on that memory my dreams cling to. Emanuelle. Em-an-nuelle. My Emanuelle, how long have you been gone from me now?

Even the thought of the number brings tears.

I snort, trying to focus more on the dream. Beynac-et-Cazenac*. It was our honeymoon. And that crazy woman… she was so sure that her bad mornings were due to pregnancy—she was positive. I wish it was pregnancy. My hand instinctively pulls my phone to check if I'm going in the right direction according to Google; I am. Emanuelle was always better at navigating in foreign countries. She was a natural Garmin* before Garmin even knew his purpose. That woman never got lost.

I look at the road ahead and watch a girl stumble, dropping all of her groceries all over the ground. No one is stopping to help her. Should I help her? My eyes whip around the crowd, looking for one nice person to be my excuse not to stop. Shit. No one is helping her. After still considering whether or not I should really help, I calmly walk forward and ask, "Would you like some help?"

The woman looks up to me and jumps. "Gahh!"

I let out a small laugh and look up to the sky. Figures that I have to be the one to help her—the scary-looking, French Mafioso—this woman's future is looking bright. I look back to her and lull, "I only look scary, promise."

She looks back up to me and responds, "I'm really sorry. I wasn't expecting—"

"A scary-looking black guy to help you?"

"No, not that."

I nod. "it's okay, you aren't the first person. I'm a good fixture during Halloween."

"Huh?"

I shake my head, forgetting that Japan doesn't do Halloween. "Never mind. Let me just help you take this home."

Outside becomes a slightly darker as I follow this woman to her apartment while holding all of her groceries. Compared to my intimidating persona, the short woman next to me is my polar opposite. Short jet-black hair cut into a bob and dainty everything; the woman holds an air of clumsiness about her in every which way. We've walked maybe seven blocks and she's stumbled plenty of times, one time actually falling to the ground. I put everything down to help her up, but then had to help clean all the dirt off of her. This woman by the name of Chiharu Matsumoto is a natural disaster, but she does it in a cute way.

We continue on and I find out that she is an elementary school teacher currently teaching first year students. I smile, thankful my profession doesn't have that many children involved. One or two is okay… thirty something is not okay. But she tells me about her job and smiles brightly while doing so. I nod and listen to her as we get closer to her destination.

She asks me about my profession, and I simply tell her that I'm a professional bodyguard. It's not the complete truth, but it's not a complete lie either. I lie enough on the job that I simply evade doing so in real life. It's nice to not lie for a change.

"You're such a strong looking guy. I imagine you are very good at your job."

I laugh. "It helps to be scary-looking. Keeps the weaker fellows away."

She chuckles, only to trip on a rock in front of her.

I hold in my desire to bust out laughing.

After quickly putting everything down and helping her up once more. I find myself walking into an apartment complex behind the small woman. Three flights of stairs with all of her groceries; I'm feeling fantastic. We finally get to her apartment, and she quickly unlocks the door and lets me inside. I ask her where to set the groceries down, but am never given an answer as she swiftly grabs all the bags from me and begins to put everything away.

My phone buzzes.

I rapidly hit talk. "Croquant here."

It's Ganauche on the other line. "Reborn is heading over to Boss' apartment with the Tenth candidate. Hurry over."

"Okay." I hang up

I look up to Chiharu once more, taking a moment to watch her get on her tiptoes to put something up. I stroll over and easily put it in place for her. She gives me a smile and a thanks. I nod back to her while she she asks, "Would you like to stay for dinner? It's the least I can do to thank you for helping me out as much as you have."

"I would, but I have urgent business that I need to attend to. So I actually have to be leaving now."

She looks back to her stuff on the table, quickly skirting over there to fetch something. I turn around and swiftly head for the door. I have a good distance to cover in little time, and I have to be there if the little Tenth candidate will be there. Now closing her door and can here her start saying something, but hear an abrupt stop in her speech.

She must have just realized that I've already left.

* * *

><p>*Cassoulete - a commonly known French dish made of Duck with different sausages served with white beans<p>

*"Dodo, L'enfant Do" - a French lullaby; it's name roughly translates to "Sleepy Time, The Young One Sleeps"

*Beynac-et-Cazenac - a commune in the Dordogne department in southwestern France. It's a really pretty place with a really small population (like a little over 500 people there?), and it's set right on the banks of the Dordogne River. You should look it up.

*Garmin - a large international corporation that specializes in GPS/Navigation tools and software for various technologies (cars, aviation, marine, cell phones, and even fitness stuff)


	6. Ganauche III

**Bah! I can't believe this is the last one.  
><strong>I really loved writing all of these.

This one is actually the story that really started the whole idea for me. I was driving in the car and it hit me like a ton of bricks. This one... ahh I love it. I almost started crying a couple times in the writing process of it. This one might be my favorite.

But I hope you enjoyed reading this as much I enjoyed writing it.

**Protocol:  
><strong>word count: 1,552

[I don't own any KHR characters]  
>I only take claim of the concepts of every chapter in this small series.<p>

=Advice/Comments are loved=

* * *

><p>With the dark chilly night brings a man quietly waiting to enter a condominium complex. The security guard sees him at the door and quickly unlocks it. The old man recognizes the tall man and his usual late-night entries. The door quickly opens. A bitterly cold draft races inside with the tall man. The guard and man both shiver.<p>

"Good evening," says the sleepy guard.

"Good evening," returns the sleepy Mafioso.

Nods exchange and swishes of a trench coat being taken off sound. An elevator bings. The man with fawn colored hair in the front and chocolate brown hair in the back enters the elevator. The doors shut. The elevator has been ordered to rise to the 17th floor. It never fails to do what it's told.

"Hmph. He's always the last person to enter."

The old man shuts his eyes.

Just as it was ordered, the elevator opens on the 17th floor. A head peaks out of the metal cube. Deep blue eyes check the hallway. He sighs and walks out, making an immediate right. Quiet steps along with constant suspicious glances are made until he reaches his condo. A hand slides into the inner pocket of his blazer to pull out a small ring of keys. They jingle and jangle as a door unlocks. They are silenced with a grasp. The turning of a knob and the shut of a door follow their song; the song is over.

It is titled 'entry.'

Inside the man lets out a sigh. He loosens his tie. The kitchen isn't clean, well, not completely. Sitting on the black granite island is a bowl that only has the final remnants of popcorn. There is an empty package of M&m's in the bowl. Next to the almost empty bowl is an opened can of black olives. The Mafioso is scratching his jaw and inspecting the small mess. He chuckles.

After throwing away the rest of the popcorn and putting the rest of the olives in the stainless steel fridge he walks over to his ledge. Across the fridge and island alike, but outside of the kitchen and set higher, the suit clad man drops his keys, phone, and wallet in a bowl sitting on top of the black ledge. A hand reaches inside his blazer, but to something closer to his body. A .44 Magnum is pulled out. Large hands easily cocks the gun to expel the bullet from the chamber, skillfully pull the magazine out, and intelligently turn on the safety. The process is repeated once more, and the magazines are placed in the same side table drawer that two more .44 magnums hide—right next to his bed.

During all this the man became well aware of the TV that is still on. He hangs his suit jacket in the bedroom closet first before rolling his sleeves and walking over to the living room. There is a movie playing in there. He doesn't recognize it, but doesn't waste time in caring. His eyes gaze upon the woman sleeping on the couch. The remote is grabbed and the power button is pressed. The only sounds present are light breaths of someone sleeping. He warmly smiles and crouches.

Long, wispy brown hair is the thing the man touches first. He brushes it away from a hiding face. Her eye's lids are hiding bright green eyes, almost lime. From the unveiling of the woman's face, the calloused hand gently slides down her shoulder and grazes on a swelling stomach. There is a kick. His smile turns into a grin.

Eyes creep open with a soft groan. The woman sees the man. "Ganauche?"

"Let me carry you to bed."

He reaches to carry her, but she pushes him away. "I've got it. I'm pregnant, not paralyzed."

He doesn't respond, only stands up. The woman slowly lifts herself to a sitting position and begins to lift herself after one deep breath. Ganauche puts out a hand to help, but it's looked at with a glare. The smile fades and the girl finds herself still sitting. Her balance is offset by a large and kicking buldge. It's punching her bladder.

Ganauche asks, "You okay?"

"The baby is making me need to go to the bathroom." She rubs her stomach.

"I can—"

"Don't bother."

A sigh escapes and the Mafioso then asks, "Ok. I'm just getting home, and you're already mad. What's wrong?"

A small laugh and smile appear on her face; they are laced with irritation. "Nothing Gana, just the usual. You know? Three days ends up being a week alone. No phone calls, no texts. Just the usual."

He looks away. "Baby, You know my work isn't a set schedule."

"But your boss can't give you a little bit of a break? I mean seriously, I've been put on bed rest already and doing all of our preparations alone."

"I know."

"Or is it you staying?" He looks away and sighs. She looks away and shakes her head. "Figures."

"Ines."

She responds, "What Ganauche."

"I'm sorry."

Ganauche watches as his apology is taken in with the response of a shaking body. A hand with long, slender fingers covers her face that is tilted down to the floor. Soft, hushed whimpers blow out the mouth of a woman who is feeling emotional pain of her situation and physical pain of a child now kicking her ribs. Ines mutters under her breath, "This was such a mistake…"

The Mafioso didn't catch what she said, but knows she said something. "What'd you say?"

She looks up to him with small streams now trailing. "All of this… our relationship… having this baby with you… It's such a mistake."

Ganauche lets out a pained gasp. He drops to his kneels and cups her face with shaking hands. "Hey, don't say that…"

Ines pulls away from his wary touch and yells, "I'm here all alone. All the fucking time. I never see you. I never know if you're okay. And I don't even know what to tell people anymore when they ask why you're never around, or why you never are at any of the fucking appointments. I-I, I just…" She gasps.

His face burns hotter from his despair. "I'm sorry, I really am. Just don't say things like this. You know I want to be here. I hate even leaving you here alone. I really do. I love you Ines, please don't say things like this."

Ganauche immediately wraps his arms around her and rests his head on her chest. The baby starts to kick to the only touch that excites it. More tears fall with Ines' trembling lips. The scratchy feeling of his unshaven face is something that she has always loved. "I just—"

[Bzzzz, Bzzzz]

Both parties look at the white bowl on the black ledge. Then both parties look at one another.

Silence.

[Bzzzz, Bzzzz]

"I—"

Ines shakes her head. "Just go answer it."

"I don't want to."

"Don't lie."

He looks away from her.

[Bzzzz, Bzzzz]

Ganauche reluctantly pulls himself away and stands, swiftly walking to the black ledge. The phone is answered. Ines starts to cry more. She hears the Mafioso ask the man on the other side of the line if it is an emergency. He nods and looks at the crying woman on the couch. He _has_ to go. The Ninth is asking for all of the guardians to immediately report to HQ, details cannot be spoken over the phone because the details are not known. He hangs up.

After a slow and pensive shake of her head she says, "You have to go?"

"…Yeah."

"Well have a good time. See you later."

"I'll come home as soon as possible."

"Like you always do."

The Mafioso turns and heads to the bedroom. A quick change of his shirt, tie, socks, and suit is what the guardian of the Ninth does. A black leather holster slides onto his shoulder and hugs his sides as the suit blazers covers the sin. The magazines are taken out of the side table drawer. The room is left; the light turns off.

Back out in the main area, the man stands in front of a black ledge. He swiftly slides the magazine in its proper place, carefully turns the safety off, and quietly slides in the holster. The process repeats. Ines still sits on the couch. There are no more tears, but there is pain. Ganauche puts all the other items in their proper places. A sigh escapes both.

He gives her a longing stare and then turns towards the door with his trench coat hanging over his forearm.

"Do you even remember what today was?"

Holding the knob, he looks back with a blank but serious stare.

She shakes her head again. "You promised that you wouldn't the doctor's appointment today."

He looks to the ground and purses his lips.

Her hand rubs her stomach. "Say goodbye to your son."

His eyes close to hide the pain, and his jaw clenches. He opens the door. "I love you both."

He leaves.


End file.
